The Spider To The Fly
by CheckeredShirts
Summary: Sometimes within the blink of an eye your whole world can change. For Tracer, that's a fact. Sometimes she's on the losing end of a blink, zipping away to lick her wounds. This time she's jumped too far, she's too slow to save Widowmaker from her own mistake. She never meant to kill Amélie. Rated 'M' for violence.


Tracer span head over heels, her body rolling across the tiles beneath her, her chronal accelerator glinting blue with each turn. Her mouth fell open into a soundless scream as the roofs edge fell away from her sight. Tracer closed her eyes to the ripple that coursed through her veins, she stilled her breath and counted the seconds. The breeze of the evening air slowly tickled her cheeks, tantalising her present with the notion of easy times. Her eyes opened to watch the overhanging tiles slowly fade away, as if the slate itself was pushing upwards into the sky. Her hands opened to the emptiness around her as she drunk in the lethargic reality surrounding her. It was almost a welcome peace.  
The shadow above seemed to crawl lazily to the roofs edge. Tracer could almost convince herself she could see the woman's smirk before she _blinked._

 _Blinked upwards. Forwards. Backwards._

The rush hit her like a wall. Her feet slid along the tiles. The adrenaline washed over her in an angry wave. She jumped high, her fingers squeezing the triggers of her twin pulse pistols. The rapid fire _pinged_ relentlessly alongside her unsteady aim, most of the projectiles bounced harmlessly off surrounding tiles.  
Widowmaker fell with a grunt, her gold plated sniper rifle clattered from her reach. Tracer _zipped_ forwards with a _pop_. She booted the weapon from the rooftop without a moment's hesitation before jumping backwards to square her stance and hastily wipe at her goggles.  
'The gigs up!' Tracer declared, cockily aiming one pistol whilst posing with the second on a hip. 'The cavalry's here!'  
' _Que c'est ennuyeux!_ '  
'Speak up love, I couldn't hear ya'  
Widowmaker pushed herself to sit, her eyes narrowed to slits. Tracer suppressed a shudder against the brown, staring eyes.  
'I don't know what business you 'ave here, but I can't have you crashing _my_ party'.  
Widowmaker slowly raised a gloved hand to her face, she pushed two fingers to probe her split lip. She stared harder. Tracer feigned ignorance.  
'Looks like you managed to make me-'  
The brown eyes grew wide, flashed golden. Tracer pivoted, swinging her guns from her hips, shielding the defenceless foe behind her. Her own brown eyes grew wide to the empty air.  
'What did you s- _ugh_ '  
The grappling hook snapped tight around Tracers throat, wrapping twice with a clink as the hook scratched along her chronal accelerator. Her breath caught in her throat with a dry wheeze.  
 _No. No. No.  
_ Darkened rope grew taut and tight. Tighter still. Tracer's knees gave way to the shock. Her fingers twitched open sporadically. Her heavy heart exploded with fear as her world tinted behind the goggles. Her eyes flickered and her limbs grew heavy.  
 _My hands won't move. My hands won't move.  
_ She smelt the woman before her, the metallic twang of blood crinkled her nose as Widowmaker drew herself closer, step by step. Tracer's world had suddenly grown slow and old without her. This present wasn't her making.  
' _Dors bien!'_ Widowmaker breathed, her lips close enough to almost kiss the coiled rope as she knelt before her freshest mark. Her smirk framed her face. 'Shall I give you a kiss goodnight?'  
It was too much. Too fast. Tracers will had all but ebbed from her twitching lips. She closed her eyes to the red glare, the pounding in her ears, the breathe against her lips. Her lungs drew in and her eyes shot open.

She _blinked_.

Her wheeze became a cough. She span, her pistols flying to her fingers, and backhanded Widowmaker in the cheek with the scuffed metal. Over the pounding of her heart, Tracer heard the crack of a broken cheekbone. She felt momentarily sick as the woman beneath her suddenly slid sideways from the roof. She raced towards her screaming her throat ragged. Her pistols stabbing over the roofs edge.  
But the violet skinned woman had already plummeted. Tracer watched in horror as the all but boneless body crumpled against windowsills and sprawled to a final stop upon the cobblestones of London beneath.  
It had never meant to end this way. She was supposed to feel triumphant, elevated even, at having simply _scared_ Widowmaker off. She had meant to tease the woman into a scuffle, let loose some pent up energy trading remarks. She couldn't _kill_ Amélie.

* * *

' _Heroes never die'_.


End file.
